Page 33 of Freeing Hook

I nod.

“Clever, but it won’t work.”

I recoil, offended. “What makes you say that?”

“Because the only woman in the room that Carlisle wishes to be strong-minded and willful is his wife, and that’s only so she can bully information out of their guests.”

“I know that,” I say, tapping on the notes beside me.

“Considering that brazen performance of yours, clearly, you don’t,” Astor says, rising from his stool and stretching out his legs.

There’s a moment where I hesitate, where I almost let him leave without me defending myself. When I speak, my voice is hardly louder than a whisper, but I say it all the same. “That version of Cressida wasn’t for Carlisle.”

Astor pretends not to hear me, but I don’t miss the way his hand flinches on the way out.

CHAPTER 12

JOHN

The fact that Tink is really quite pretty should not make it more difficult for me to torture information out of her.

If Wendy were here, she’d tell me there’s no reason to torture information out of anyone.

But Wendy isn’t here.

And besides, my sister trusted the creature who haunted her for her entire childhood. So I don’t know why I’m bothering listening to her voice inside my head.

When I’d dragged Tink’s limp body into the cave, I’d been ready to restrain her. I’m still not sure how long it takes the fae to overcome rushweed, so I’d brought ropes in my satchel just in case.

As it turned out, I didn’t need them. Because inside Tink’s lair was a cage.

It looks hewn from the stone of the cave wall itself. No, it’s as if it’s always been a part of the cave. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the stalactites and stalagmites grew together perfectly to form the bars, even the door and its lock. I found a key Tink keeps hidden underneath her small cot.

I’m not sure who made this cave, or who they made it for, but that’s not the pressing question at the moment.

“Did you hurt my sister?” I ask, staring at the faerie inside the cage.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. For her to snarl at me, probably. For her actions to be as untamed as her disheveled hair, cropped and golden and looking as though someone has recently run their hands through it. For her to be as unhinged as her tattered burlap garb and shredded wings would imply.

There’s a wildness in Tink. That’s as evident as it could be in the way she cocks her head. She might be trapped inside the cage, but there’s no mistaking that she’s the predator here, her stunning blue eyes calculating as she examines me.

When I was younger, I heard men label women as calculating as if it were a defect. I never understood that. But now, looking into Tink’s cunning eyes, I understand. She’s terrifying.

“Did you hurt my sister?” I ask again.

Tink nods. I detect little emotion in her reaction, except for the twitch of her full lips. A hint of pleasure there.

My heart raps against my hollow chest cavity. “Is she dead?”

I’m not sure what I’ll do to Tink if her answer is yes.

But Tink doesn’t nod this time. Instead, she blinks, her round blue eyes flashing with surprise, just for a moment. She tries to hide it from me, tries to regain her composure, but it’s too late.

“You didn’t know,” I say, though I can’t bring myself to be relieved. All this proves is that Tink didn’t kill her, not that she’s not dead. “You didn’t know Wendy is missing.”

Tink’s expression shutters.

Chills prod the back of my neck.

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